A Contradiction, Of Sorts
by ParadoxicallyRandom
Summary: Multi-pairing drabble/oneshot collection: None of them are puzzle pieces; none of them are even remotely perfect. But love itself is a contradiction, so does it matter at all?  Besides, even opposites have their special moments.
1. JamesLily: Romance Novels

**Well, I completely _randomly _felt the desire to start a James/Lily drabble-oneshot collection. So here we are.  
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**This first one has the prompts of: _blue_, _petal_, _moon_, and the quote _"I was joking!"_ - Provided by the absolutely _lovely_ Rani Jashalithie, whose next generation fics are among the funniest things I've read on this site. Please go check her out, I'm not advertising her for nothing. XD**

**So if any of you readers want to be acknowledged by a person not famous enough to get you any extra views, you can give me prompts in a review! Awesome, right? Three random words and a quote, if you please. **

**Thank you all for reading, and give me your opinion, 'kay? Honest opinion. I haven't written proper drabbles before...so yeah. I hope it's not too long. Or cliched. Or stupid. XD**

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><p><strong>The Benefits of Romance Novels<strong>  
><em>Prompts: Blue, Petal, Moon, "I was joking!"<em>

Lily Evans was curled up in her armchair - not that it was technically _hers_, but what did that matter? Anyways, Lily was curled up in her armchair. The novel she was perusing rested on her left knee, and she turned the page with an expression of mingled amusement and disgust.

"Evans, you can't possibly be reading this _trash!_" The voice emitted from a point a few feet above her head, and a hand from the same general region grabbed the book from her languid grip and cast it halfway across the room. Its rather..._tattered_ cover of blue leather hit the ground with a thud, and it spontaneously opened to page one-hundred-and-two.

Lily gave a small sigh before craning her neck upwards and opening her mouth to issue one of one of her few _decent_ biting retorts (reusable in _any_ situation).

James cut her off. "Don't give me anything about how you have _the right to_ _enjoy your last five days of sixth year in peace_. That wasn't my point."

She closed her mouth with a snap, pursing her lips into a single tight line. (It wasn't like she could admit that Potter "took the words right out of her mouth", as the expression went.)

He continued, stifling a laugh of superiority. "My point was that this is _complete and utter rubbish._ I didn't peg you as the type for reading Liz Heart."

"Liz Heart? It's called 'Under the Moonlight' or something like - "

"The _author_, Evans. Stop being a dimwit. Don't you know her? Elizabeth Heartwood, commonly known as Liz Heart, mistress of _romantic mush_ in the Wizarding World."

Lily looked positively horrified. "You mean she's written _more_?"

"Fifty or so, actually," James laughed. "I only know so much about them from Mum. She prides herself on knowing all of their sordid details without ever having _degraded_ herself by opening a single one. Speaking of which, where _did_ you get your hands on that?"

"Never you mind. But it really _is_ that awful, you know. But _hilariously_ awful. When you..._stopped _me, the heroine was wearing a 'beautifully flowing gown of ivory satin' and 'reposing on a bed of lightly tinted rose petals'. _Sickening._ And then her...significant other - "

"Is the bloke's name Antonio?" asked James. "It's always something exotic-sounding, apparently. But usually _Antonio_." He made a revolted face. "If I was named Antonio, I'd jump off a cliff."

Lily gaped at James stupidly, wondering why he hadn't taken N.E.W.T Divination. "Well, yes, he is...Antonio. And he's _disgustingly _sappy."

"In what way, Evans? Because your idea of romance is considerably different than mine. I would say that witty verbal banter...well, at least _one-sided_ wit, anyway, could be the basis for a _long and fruitful relationship_. You, on the other hand, seem to prefer - "

Lily interrupted by means of a long, false cough. "I'm rather biased towards people with _sense_. Who don't procrastinate on every Charms essay and sneak out of school three nights a week."

"What? So this _Antonio _has no sense of adventure? Idiot."

"Of course he does! He battles hordes of pirates and highwaymen every day before _breakfast._ He's brilliant with offensive spells, a dueling master - "

James scoffed. "_I _can duel too."

"But _he _knows 'every spell ever invented, and even some that _haven't yet been discovered_'."

"Impossible."

"My point _exactly._"

James rolled his eyes. "It's not even romantic to fall in love with _perfection, _is it?"

(Lily debated whether or not to take that as an insult.)

He continued, "So, then, _what _do these girls see in him?"

Lily decided _not _to take his earlier statement as an insult, and moved on. "He's handsome...supposedly."

"As if."

"And brave...perhaps."

"I doubt it."

"And attentive...if you like people hovering over you, that is."

"I don't think _you _do."

Lily paused, lost in thought. "Then...well, I don't know. I guess the girls are just _idiots_ too. Falling for his cliched compliments, and little presents, and flowers - "

"Evans, if you go out with me, I'll _never _give you flowers."

She laughed. "_Wonderful. _I'd like that."

James suddenly felt the urge to fall over, and only caught himself by clutching the back of the armchair. "Gosh, Evans. I was joking!"

"...I know. So was I."

He reached out his hand and caught that little pause before her words, and saved it in his heart. Somewhere.


	2. RonHermione: Fellytones

**Okay...and now for the second drabble in here, which happens to be Ron/Hermione. (Yeah, because of RJ, I've decided to make this a random all-pairing free-for-all. Oh, joy. XD)  
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**The prompts? Well, courtesy of Rani Jashalithie (again), they are: _toilet paper, ruby, ring, _and the quote _"Push it in further!" _**

**I didn't know she had such...inappropriate tendencies, but I believe I'll be disappointing her immensely. XD **

**I know, however, that I have many more readers besides RJ, so it would be awesome if you could leave me your own opinions and new prompts in a review. Since I've made this "a random all-pairing free-for-all," I would be _eternally _grateful to those who left me a pairing, along with three unrelated words, and a quote.**

**I repeat: a pairing, three unrelated words, and a quote. **

**I perfectly understand why a lot of you guys didn't leave a review...after all, who takes a look at a one-chapter drabble collection? But what about a _two-chapter _drabble collection. XD**

**As a final note, I'd like to mention that I've written this in first-person, and I hope I've done the wonderful character of Ronald Bilius Weasley justice.**

**So have fun, and have an awesome day! (And pretty please review? XD)  
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><p><strong>Fellytones<br>**_Prompts: toilet paper, ruby, ring, "Push it in further!"_

I think I just somewhat-almost-maybe proposed marriage to Hermione Granger. Over a Muggle telephone.

See, we were in her parent's house. I think her mum was in the living room, knitting longer sleeves for Hermione's favorite oversized ruby-red-maroon-_whatever _sweater. And her dad was in the rocking chair, chuckling over an _ancient_ fat dentistry manual_. _He frowned, stared at a word, and jotted something down on a notepad. No, wait, it couldn't have been the manual...because _that_ was currently...elsewhere. So it must've been Hermione's old copy of Hogwarts: A History. Yes, _that _copy. They looked practically identical, much to her chagrin. In fact, _that_ was why she was currently pacing the spotless tile floor of her kitchen, looking considerably more harried than normal.

"They _have _to be back by now, it's been a _week!_"

Harry and my sister had gotten married about five days ago...and they had either gone to Helsinki, Athens, or Lima. In an attempt to avoid the likes of Rita Skeeter, they hadn't told _anyone _the exact honeymoon location_. _We were just hoping to Merlin that they weren't in _Peru_. The problem? Well, Hermione had forgotten to get the two of them a wedding present. She was banking on tickets, complete with an international apparation license, for the next Quidditch World Cup in Salem_. _'Cause with _her _influence, she could do anything. Except _I_ got to those tickets first. So she made a spontaneous (no, I mean _literally last-minute_) decision to give them her old copy of Hogwarts: A History. Just for all the memories...and personally, I think she just wanted to guilt-trip Harry into reading it. (She'd given up all hope regarding me.) No, it's not as out-of-character as you might think - she has the new version, anyway. (And it has us in it. _Us!_ Can you imagine?) But because this was, as I mentioned, literally last-minute, she hastily levitated and wrapped the wrong book from her shelf. And after the wedding, she came home to her frantic father asking if she'd seen his Theoretical Teeth-Treatment anywhere. And _that _is why I've spent the past five days hanging about with a _madwoman_.

"Oh, that's it," she sighed, stopping her heavy footsteps with a huff in front of their kitchen telephone. "I'm giving them a ring."

_The idiot._ "But - "

"I can't apparate...you know that. It's too loud...and my parents would be scared to _pieces_!"

It really _was_ useless arguing with her. Even if I'd brought up the fact that I had just _apparated_ into her bedroom about half an hour previously, and they heard _nothing, _she'd have shouted me down.

"And don't say anything about using a patronus...it's just as bad!"

Unreasonable, isn't she? Her _dad's _sitting down reading all of her _Wizarding schoolbooks_, and she's treating them like ignorant little _toddlers. _She's been like this ever since they got back from Australia. Overprotective as _hell. _"But - "

"Shut _up_, Ronald."

_Brilliant. _I can't even defeat my unofficial girlfriend in a screaming match. In fact, _I can't even scream back._

"Come on, you know how to use a telephone, don't you?" she asked, folding her arms crossly.

Actually, I hadn't even touched one since the summer before third year...after I made that disastrous call to Harry from the phone booth in the village. And before that, well, Ginny and I used to play "fellytone" with Muggle toilet paper rolls that Dad _engorgio_-ed for us. I stood at one end of the yard, and she stood at the other, and we..._yelled _into the tube-thing_. _Except Hermione couldn't know how utterly _inept _I am - she's _already _sure I'm a bumbling goon. So I lifted up the receiver tentatively.

Apparently, I couldn't even do _that _right.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, it's not even plugged in!"

_Wait...what? Plugged...what the hell? _Oh. That cord...the socket..._oh. _Remembering Dad's warnings about "not messing with eckeltricity," I touched one end to the other gingerly, then _freaked out _and dropped it. The wire, not the telephone. Thank goodness. Otherwise, you'd see my head on a stake in the Granger's front yard.

At least I managed to elicit a laugh from Hermione. "You're a Gryffindor, Ron - don't be a coward. Push it in further!"

Scared half to _death, _I somehow managed to respond with total incoherence, and listed a bunch of Muggle words I didn't know I knew. "But...static...sparks...spark plugs...no, not spark plugs...electric shock...I think it's an electric shock...lightning?"

She had stopped her somewhat manical giggling. "_Oh_, now you're just being an _idiot_." Hermione jammed the plug into the socket, and luckily didn't die.

Finally lifting the telephone to her own ear, she pushed a few buttons. Then she froze, wrinkling her brow in confusion. "Ron, what's his number?"

Ah. _Now _she asks. "Hermione, I was trying to tell you before...they decided not to get a telephone...I forgot the reason, though...something about - "

I ducked. Wise decision, in the long run. And then I countered that miraculous flash of brain power by equally miraculously _screwing up_.

"Honestly, Hermione! If you're going on like _this_, I don't think _I'm _getting a telephone either, when we get married!"

Oops.

Damn. _When._ And now she's thinking that I take her for granted...or that I...oh _damn. _

She looked half like she was going to snog me senseless, and half like she was going to hex me into oblivion. From her face, I assumed that the hexing side won.

Sod her parents in the next room; _sod them_ getting frightened out of their wits. I'm seriously disapparating. With a very, very, very loud _crack._


	3. JamesLily: Propaganda

**And this next one is back to a James/Lily again. With an unhealthy focus on the Remus/Lily friendship-ish dynamic.  
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**Prompts are: _pencil, clam, purple,_ and the quote _"Have you seen her eyes?"_**

**Provided by Rani Jashalithie yet again, and I'm sure she's sick of giving me prompts. So come on...you know you want to! **

**Just give me a pairing, three random words, and a quote...and you get a warm feeling and free advertising! **

**(And if you respond in the next twenty-four hours, you get yourself a free cookie! That's a fifty-dollar value, all for the price of one little review! So what're you waiting for? Click on the tiny review button...today! Don't wait; this is a limited time offer! And more free ice cream with a cherry on top if you just read that to yourself in the stupid television advertisement voice!)**

**I'll try not to bore you all with long droning author's notes, so I'll just start now. XD**

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><p><strong>Propaganda<br>**_Prompts: pencil, clam, purple, "Have you seen her eyes?"_

Both Remus and Lily's mothers wrote to them in pencil, rather than in ink. They both suffered from the same (background) fear of failing _everything_, and studied twice as hard to make up for it. They had both received their Gryffindor prefect badges by owl a few months earlier; they both took their positions seriously. Well, at least one of them certainly did, while the other _tried. _It wasn't quite enough to give the two a deep connection, but it was something, nonetheless.

Which was why Remus Lupin was in the library right now, stuttering and making a complete fool of himself.

He shouldn't have bothered, that was obvious. Peter was right to pull him back through the portrait hole. Remus had shrugged off the squeakily impassioned pleas to let James be, and leave his (nonexistent) love life _alone_.

Screw James. It was all his fault really. Who asked him to go _bonkers_ ten minutes ago and scorch the Gryffindor Common Room wall with some random-impulsive-horrendous spell? It was an _awful_ temper tantrum, rather like the ones thrown by that random niece-_thing_ Sirius had...he boasted constantly of her _screaming_ abilities. (And yet the fact that she was a Metamorphmagus seemed only secondary to him, and to everyone else too, for that matter. Typical.) And after mutilating one of the hanging scarlet tapestries featuring someone-or-the-other-who-was-famous, James just buried his head in his hands and _laughed_, calling Evans a stuck-up, prissy, lost case. _Honestly_.

No, putting the blame on someone else would get him nowhere. After all, Remus himself was the one who was hanging around awkwardly, while Lily Evans was failing at replacing a book on a library shelf about two feet above her head. And after all, he was the one who had, in a misguided effort to further James Potter's romantic affairs (while at the same time making him shut up about a certain red-haired someone), just called his best friend a _clam. _

"No...no...I really meant an _oyster_. James is an oyster. Seriously." He cringed inwardly - if only he could sink into the floor right now.

Lily was either utterly bemused, or awfully angry. "The thing with oysters is that they have _pearls_. And I don't think arrogance and idiocy and...arrogance and...well, I doubt any of _that _is worth the effort to dig out."

Remus could have responded hotly about the obvious characteristics of utmost loyalty, bravery, good humor (most of the time), flashes of academic genius, sense of adventure (not that she'd find it at all attractive), and Quidditch brilliance (not that she'd find that attractive either). However, he didn't have this opportunity, as the..._object_...in question immediately started to speak for himself from a few shelves away.

At the sound of the three distinctive (not to mention _overly loud and obnoxious_) voices floating through the library, Lily pursed her lips, turned her nose up by about a ninety degree angle, and furrowed both her eyebrows into a dark, menacing line.

Remus Lupin thus gave a spontaneous sigh of relief. "Look, Lily, you can deny _anything _I say, but I'm willing to bet every Galleon I have that he's talking about you right now."

"Yeah...so?" she asked, although her eyes seemed to light up a bit. (Or was he just imagining things?)

"So? So it shows he...erm...cares?" he finished, rather lamely.

"All it shows is that he's a spoiled _prat_ who has a horribly unhealthy fascination with things that he can't have." She scowled. (Oh, he most certainly was imagining things.)

They both immediately shut up when they heard something crash from behind.

"Oi, watch where you're going!" Sirius' voice.

"But she's _beautiful_, isn't she?" That was most definitely James.

"Oh, shut up, you've been going on _forever._" Sirius again, without a doubt.

"And ever and ever and ever and..." The voice that belonged to Peter slowly trailed off.

"James, have you _seen _her eyes?" Sirius _again_.

"Wonderful. Absolutely, marvelously, _wonderful_." This passionate declaration was followed by a dreamy sigh.

Lily rolled her eyes, suddenly realized she was blushing, and so rapidly turned her face to the wall.

"But they can't _possibly _be natural, y'know?" Peter, probably.

"Because I've never seen anybody with _purple _eyes. Impossible, mate." Sirius. And wait - _purple_?

James spoke again. "So, who cares if they're purple? Still the prettiest eyes I've ever - "

_Damn. _Remus put on a falsely cheerful voice. "Did you hear purple? Because I'm positive he said green!"

Lily's expression resembled closely that of Remus' mother when she used to catch him stealing fresh cookies from her baking sheet. Her eyes held something very close to _pity_, while the right corner of her lip twitched as if she was trying to hide a smile. "Oh, Remus," she sighed while shaking her head sadly. "You know, if you just stopped being Potter's lapdog, you could really make something of yourself."

At the word _lapdog_, Remus straightened up, crossed his arms tightly, and gained a glint in his eye that made him look _positively vicious_. "Well, _Evans_, I think James was quite right about you. You really are a _stuck up, prissy, lost case_."

"Shut _up._ Just - "

"Fine!" Remus stalked off angrily, not bothering to look back.

"Fine!" Lily slammed the book in her hands onto the wrong shelf. "_Purple_," she muttered bitterly to herself. "Purple!"


	4. JamesLily: Hook, Line, and Sinker

**Lily/James...yet again. XD (Don't worry, I'm giving them a break after this. My next drabble'll be Rolf/Luna.)  
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**And today's free advertising goes to...Separate Entity! *applauds***

**Prompts are: _salt, bandage, mouse, _and the quote _"I knew I should've gone fishing."_**

**So to all of you readers, I'd love it if you'd send me prompts too. Paring, three random words, and a quote. I always love challenges. ;) But just plain old feedback is even more welcome than prompts, actually.  
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><p><strong>Hook, Line, and Sinker<br>**_Prompts: salt, bandage, mouse, "I knew I should've gone fishing."_

"Idiot."

He always said that she overused the word, yet he was never so happy to hear it. (Especially this time, 'cause she didn't follow it up with one of her characteristic..._rants_.)

"What'd I do this time?" _Damn. _His voice sounded weak...awfully pathetic. And _damn _again - coughing fit. He fiddled listlessly with a fraying bandage wrapped around his head.

"Almost died." It was nothing more than a statement; she seemed to have gotten used to it by now. And somehow, that hurt more than everything else.

He attempted to crack a smile (because really, what else was there to do?), and ended up feeling like he had cracked a rib. His head sunk into the infirmary pillow with a groan.

She sat hunched over gravely in the stiff wooden chair, her chin propped up on her clenched fists. "_Honestly_, James," she said seriously. "I don't know how you manage it. We're leaving school for good in less than three weeks...we're going to fight in the bloody _Order_." Her voice suddenly became more-high pitched and increased drastically in volume. "And _yet_, here you are, somehow having the _audacity _to get _mutilated_ by a..." She trailed off, lost.

"Thestral. It was a thestral. Or multiple thestrals..."

"Wait - then what were you _doing_? It doesn't seem to make much sense, actually."

Oh _hell. _She couldn't find out that they were _still _wandering around the grounds unauthorized...it was the very reason he'd created the front of being a _reformed character. _ So he impulsively made up a (hopefully plausible) lie. "Well, just _don't tell anyone. _Least of all old Kettleburn. He's already been in to see me, and he's absolutely devastated._.._thinks he's going to be put on probation _again_."

"You mean he forced you to help him deal with the thestrals? But that's ridiculous_; _none of us can see - " She stopped with a halt. Was it even..._proper_ to pass comments implying (rather _obliquely_ implying) the idea of _death_...particularly in times like these?

He swore inwardly, as he had somehow managed to forget that vital little detail of invisibility. "Erm...he sort of caught me as I was walking down from the castle. Needed someone to help him feed the things."

"So you just decided to waltz into the forest alone and feed dead ferrets to hypothetical winged horses. _Typical_."

Well, if he was going to keep on making this up, he might as well go to extremes. "Actually, he led me into the forest...to where the thestrals supposedly were...before leaving me there. And he only gave me _one _mouse to feed them with. Shocking, isn't it?" Maybe he had gone _just a bit_ too far. "I mean, it was a very large mouse. _Engorgio-_ed, I think, by the looks of it."

"Well, then what?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure. I couldn't see anything, after all. I guess the mouse wasn't enough for them...and they just decided to claw at me. And then I got knocked out, and then Sirius miraculously found me and brought me here, and then I woke up feeling like _hell_."

Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and when she next spoke, her voice was strained. "Tell Dumbledore. Seriously, I'll come with you. If the thestrals are going out of control, that could mean - "

He rapidly raised his shoulders off the bed and shook his head frantically. (_Ow._) "No, _please _don't do it, Lily. He'll think we're overreacting."

"I'm sure Dumbledore would want to know - "

"I...I already told him!" he interjected, with a sense of relief.

"Really?"

"Really." He spoke with such conviction that she had no choice _but _to believe him. (Except she couldn't really give in _that _easily, right?)

"I hope you realize that none of this can redeem your complete and utter _idiocy_."

"You _pain _me, Lily. Worse than _salt_ inside my wounds. Numerous wounds. Incidentally, they're bleeding dreadfully, y'know? And my bruises - too many to count."

"Stop trying to fish for compliments. Who knows _what_ you'll dredge up?"

There was a loud sigh. "Well, what about sympathy?"

She paused. Then suddenly she bent down and hugged him so hard that he felt his ribs crack again. After a swift peck on the cheek, she had vanished, and the door of the hospital wing was swinging wildly.

When James next woke up, he was to Sirius roughly shaking his shoulder.

"Oi, Prongs. What _did _you tell Evans? She's bawling her eyes out and claiming that you're the bravest person in the _entire_ school."

Remus rolled his eyes. "She's not _actually _crying over you; don't get your hopes up."

James sat up in bed, and blinked a few times to clear his head. "Wait - she called me _brave_? I knew I should've gone fishing."

Peter looked sadly around the room, and sat down on a corner of the mattress. "I'm afraid he's gone _barmy_. It's about time."


	5. RolfLuna: Irrevocable

**Um...well, thank you to everyone who's put me on story alert, or on favorites...I really appreciate it. (No, I'm not one of those people who thinks it's _rude_ if you favorite or alert without leaving a review, I understand that sometimes it's difficult or whatever. I'm probably guilty of the same thing too. It's just that reviews are something of an...incentive, maybe. So you know that there are real people reading what you've written, and actually have something to say about it. So I really would love it if you came out of the shadows and left me a little review...)**

**Anyways, this next thing is Rolf/Luna; yep, uncharted territory. Wish me luck. **

**Prompts are from Rani Jashalithie again, and you really should take a look at her stories. Anyways, this time I'm working with: _mud, fire, blond, _and the quote _"No, actually, stay right there. I'll need you later."_**

**So yeah...read, review, prompt me, and have a _brilliant_ day. XD**

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><p><strong>Irrevocable<br>**_Prompts: mud, fire, blond, "No, actually, stay right there. I'll need you later."_

He had never believed that the Mediterranean coastline of Greece could be such a _bore_. It was undoubtedly beautiful, yet in such a _remote_ way. There were no Muggles to be seen, no wizards except them two, and most certainly no magical creatures. (Except the invisible things _she _kept pointing out. But those didn't count.)**  
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"Lovegood, I swear they're going to fire us," sighed an exasperated Rolf Scamander. He appeared about an inch away from _throttling_ his companion.

"Daddy would never fire us, Rolf. The information we're owling him will turn into the most _brilliant_ article for the Quibbler to date! Isn't it wonderful?"

Rolf could not quite see anything wonderful in the situation. "I wasn't talking about your father; I was talking about the _Prophet_. If we keep filling their nature column with Jugular - "

"I think you mean Umgubular, Rolf."

"Yes, those. If we keep filling the nature column with Umbugular Slashkilters - "

"It's Um-_gub_-u-lar, not Um-_bug_-u-lar."

"Fine, Umgubular Slashkilters. If we keep filling the nature column with - "

"But I haven't written a _thing _about them yet!"

"_Whatever_, Lovegood_._ My point being, if we keep filling the nature column with creatures like _that_, the Prophet's not going to like it. And then our names will be splattered with the mud of rejection, and I'll never get another job again, and - "

"Rolf, _honestly_, who cares? We're not doing it for the _money_, are we? And even if they are narrow-minded enough to get rid of us, we'll still be in the Quibbler! Look on the bright side of things, will you?"

It wasn't like he could tell her that he actually _was_ only here for the pay. Rolf pushed his hair back from his forehead miserably, and gave up.

(_Damn _that infernal girl. The one day he had actually _attended_ one of his mum's disgustingly fancy _soirees_ happened to be precisely six days after Lovegood's discovery of a particle-creature-thing she termed the _Wrackspurt_. So she became the guest of honor, and he sarcastically introduced himself to her as "Scamander comma Rolf", and she happened to find that highly amusing. Then somehow they became this hypothetical _dream team _- the miracle Magizoologist, and the lowly but gifted worker in the Ministry's Beast Division...who happened to live mostly on his grandfather's fortune. The papers _obviously_ fell all over this, and somehow, they both ended up becoming temporary _Prophet _columnists. _Wonderful_, wasn't it? Rolf thought not.)

She interrupted his musings by turning around so quickly that her thick blond plait whacked him in the jaw. Rolf didn't even bother hoping for an apology - which was just as well.

"Rolf? See that?"

"See..._what_?"

Luna tramped into the bushes, and disappeared for around a minute. Rolf was seriously contemplating the merits of apparating somewhere else before she came back, but just as he stood up, she returned with a nondescript-looking moth on her finger.

"I'm calling it a Humdinger. A Blibbering Humdinger. It's not what I thought it would look like, but still - isn't it _beautiful_?"

"Charming. Now let it go, and we'll be off."

She looked up at him with something close to...was it _pity_? "You don't see it, do you?"

"It's a bloody _moth_, Lovegood. There's nothing else to see."

She raised her index finger up, to a spot exactly under his nose. "Rolf, look _closer_."

"Well, I'm certainly seeing double, if that's what you're talking about. You're making me cross-eyed."

The moth flapped its wings, perhaps signifying that it too would rather be anywhere else but here.

Luna leaned towards it, and - oh _hell_, she really was loony. Nobody in their right mind would _talk_ to _that_. "No, actually, stay right there. I'll need you later. Wingspan measurements and such, you know."

It flapped its wings once more, as if in affirmation.

"Anyways...just try, Rolf. _Please._"

And so he bent down, and he stared, and somehow he could feel the world around him spinning, and the moth was still a moth, and he was _so dizzy_, and -

And it was just an instant, but for that instant, he thought he saw...a shadow, perhaps. Bigger than a butterfly, fuzzy loopy antennae that curled in a long downwards spiral, and hazy blue-apricot-lavender-chartreuse-rose-_something_ wings, and -

And just as quickly, it was gone, and the moth was again nothing more than a moth.

She glanced up. "You saw it, didn't you? Is it still there?"

He blinked, in a daze. "Not anymore."

"But you _believe_ it's there, don't you?"

The answer came without him realizing it. "Yes...I do."

Luna beamed. "Progress indeed, Rolf. _Lovely_."

And suddenly, something in Rolf Scamander irrevocably changed. She saw an inkling of it; he realized nothing. (Except that, well, perhaps... perhaps Greece wasn't so bad after all.)


	6. GeorgeAngelina: Betting on Beating

**I'll make this short and sweet. XD**

**1. Free advertising goes to artyfan, a wonderful writer and an amazing person. So do go check her out. **

**2. Pairing is George/Angelina. (Yay! More uncharted territory!) Prompts are: _bet, complain, owl, _and the quote _"You owe me ten galleons."_**

**3. So I'd be incredibly happy if you lovely readers left me a review, a prompt, or both. :)**

**4. Dang. I just realized this is my longest of these oneshot things, so bear with me.  
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**5. Yeah, that's all. On with the story, then...**

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><p><strong>Betting on Beating (and Beating at Betting)<br>**_Prompts: bet, complain, owl, "You owe me ten galleons."_

George Weasley's flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had rarely been empty for the past two years. If it wasn't his mother with cookies and sympathy, it was his father with an extra pack of Muggle playing cards, or Ron and Hermione with small talk, or Harry and Ginny with Quidditch scores, or Oliver Wood with a random catalogue of colored Bludgers, or Alicia and Katie with giggles and gossip, or Angelina, who often stayed an hour or so after the former two departed.

He knew why they came, regardless of their flimsy excuses - in fact, he was sure that they kept a regular schedule going, because Ginny came every Monday at three sharp, and Oliver came just as she was leaving at a quarter past four, and - well, you get the picture. That's not to say that George wasn't thankful. At the beginning, he craved those few moments of solitude where he could be free to collapse on the sofa with his head in his hands and _cry_. Yet now, his family was his...well, his _anchor_, so to speak. (They always had been, but these days, drifting away didn't seem so attractive of a fate.)

An owl exited the old cuckoo clock opposite the door, and hooted once. It was half-past five on Wednesday, which meant that Alicia and Katie had left, and Angelina had just arrived to chat. She had brought pumpkin bread; it tasted atrocious, since Angie couldn't cook to save her life. (George ate it anyway, because he...appreciated the gesture.)

"Well, you _are _looking better," said Angelina cheerfully as she plonked down on the sofa. She then tilted her head, appraising him. "Well, to a certain extent, anyway."

He grinned back...well, _half_-grinned. It didn't seem possible to _actually_ smile anymore. "Likewise."

"So, how's the shop? Busy?"

"Extremely."

"I thought so. Ron threw an exploding cushion at my head when I tried to say hello. If it wasn't the prototype, I'd have no eyebrows right now."

"Figures. He's been in an _awful _mood lately. I keep telling him that he shouldn't complain, but...no, not working."

"Why? Is work bad? Or is Hermione just so busy over her _infernal _first draft of that house-elf legislation thing?"

George gave that (oh-so _heartbreaking_) lopsided smile again. "Is there really any need to ask?"

"Yeah...I guess."

There was an awkward silence, in which George started to spiral downwards into that seemingly ubiquitous sea of melancholy. (Because what hurt the most was that he _didn't _hurt as much as it once did...since somehow, now, he _was _Fred. And now that Fred was _gone_, he was expected to be _Fred-and-George _instead of just _George_, and he was actually living up to those expectations and - is _this_ the person he would have been if he'd never had a twin?)

"Oh," gasped Angelina, suddenly. "I _just_ remembered what I came here for."

George grabbed onto her words and pulled himself up. True, it seemed obvious that had not "just remembered" whatever she had supposedly "just remembered"...perhaps she was just...waiting for the right moment? Or was she steeling herself?

She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again with a sigh, took a deep breath, and then began. "Please...don't...don't...don't..." She stopped with a quaver in her voice.

"Don't _what_?"

"Never mind. Just - well, so...erm...George?"

"I'm listening."

"Remember that day in the middle of the war when we were all so _sick _of everything, and we just _gave up_, and went to my house to play Quidditch, all of us?"

He opened his mouth; she continued, giving him no opportunity to respond.

"Well...remember _he _- Fred - left early for Potterwatch? He...he...he left his bat...his beater's bat...in my room, and I was going to give it back, and I never did, and it got buried under so much _stuff_, and I just found it, and...and...and I thought you should have it, George."

And it seemed to take an _age_ for Angelina to reach into her bag and pull..._it_...out. Any illusions George had about his _healing _were promptly shattered. _Shattered._

"No. _No_. Angie, just keep it. I can't...I can't...I..."

"You'll want it in the future, I _promise _you that much. Look, I'll just go now." (But it was a quarter til six...too early. Much too early.)

"Take it back..._please _take it back. I'll never be able to touch it. I never can. _Ever_."

She was already at the door. "Bet you ten galleons."

George called back hoarsely, "_Fifteen_," but she was long gone.

And he was left looking at Fred's old bat, the _poor-sad-pathetic _thing leaning miserably against the wall. He never was able to use it; it was always too heavy on the left side and ended up crashing into his knee every time he tried. (Likewise, Fred found..._had found_...George's bat too light, and ended up spinning in circles whenever he swung.) And the memories of the games, the laughter, the sword fights - especially the sword fights - caused such a flood, and he hadn't _cried _like this in so, so long.

The beater's bat scraped against the wall and fell to the floor with a silent thud.

A year passed...it became two years...and half a year more.

George (almost) learned how to smile properly, and (almost) learned how to laugh again. And still the bat remained on the floor of the flat, its position unchanged for almost three years now.

The schedule had remained, more from habit than necessity, which was why Angelina rushed in on that late Wednesday afternoon.

"Hey...y'know what I found on my way here?"

"What?"

"Stall in one of the backstreets in Diagon. I think it's ripping off your merchandise. I bought something for you to see...looks rather like the mechanical spider you have on display in the front window."

George rolled his eyes. "It's not in the window anymore; Ron screamed like a banshee and squished it when I showed him."

"Besides the point. Anyways, just see if it's yours, will you?"

She placed a little cardboard box on the coffee table, and carefully unwound its red ribbon.

George rolled his eyes yet again, even more sarcastically than before. "Nice packaging. More than I'd expect from a dingy little stall in the middle of nowhere."

"_Shut it_. I'm trying to help you, here."

He did indeed shut it; she opened the spider in silence. It began to scuttle around the table innocently.

"Ah...well, it does look like mine to some degree. Not identical, though, but I'll just have to perform some spells to...make sure."

George reached behind him for his wand. Suddenly Angelina gasped in horror and ran to the other end of the room, her eyes wide.

"What happe - _oh_." The thing had grown wings and was meandering towards her lazily, exuding a dangerous looking lime-green vapour.

"It'd be _lovely _if you did something, George."

"Why did _you _go buy something from a random storefront selling _obviously_ dark merchandise?"

"Too late for lectures, I think"

"But - "

"Oi! You're the only one with a wand, here!"

So he blindly shot some spell at it...probably one that was supposed to blow the spider up. It grew two times larger and started to spit out sparks as well.

That was when Angelina _actually_ screamed, and something in George snapped. A few seconds later, the spider lay in charred metal remains on his rug.

She simply stared.

"_What_?"

"You...you...you attacked that spider with Fred's old bat. Didn't you realize?"

"I...I...oh, _hell_." He had lifted the bat - without crumbling into pieces. He had swung it - without hitting himself in the leg. (He never could before, could he? So was it Fred or George who had just wielded _that_ beater's bat - Fred's bat, heavier on the left side?)

"Pay up, then," laughed Angelina, clearly back to normal after the...erm..._little_ incident.

"Huh?" He blinked rapidly, quite more dazed than she was.

"Pay up. You touched the bat - you owe me ten galleons. No, it was fifteen, I think."

(_Fifteen_? So she had heard him, hadn't she?)

He rummaged in his wallet, only coming up with eleven and a knut.

"I'll give you the rest later, then?"

"You're sure you don't have anything else?"

And before both of them knew it, her arms were around his neck and his lips were on hers (and whether George was Fred or George was George, nobody cared and perhaps nobody ever would).

They both stepped back, breathing heavily - although it's never been quite possible to lose your breath after three seconds. Maybe four.

"I do think we're even, now."


End file.
